This – whatever this is – is not finished, but I’ve lost interest in giving it a satisfying ending. Instead I’ve plumped for a realistic one, which I think gives you the feeling of ‘what have I just read and why?’ but oh well, that’s the majority of Internet content these days, right? 

Lewis needed a wee. It wasn’t life-or-death at the moment – he wasn’t in pain or anything – but he wasn’t familiar with this neck of the woods and he thought that he’d better start seeking out a toilet soon before things got that way.

After a bit of walking around central London he eventually found a gents tucked away underground. The need had intensified slightly during the hunt and he was pleased to have found it. He knew he’d have to put some money into a turnstile or something so he reached into his jeans pocket for some change and pulled out a few 10ps. When be got to the bottom of the concrete steps however he realised he was short; the price of entry was a full 50p. He cursed to himself, and glanced around him. A short woman in a hi-vis stepped out of a small cubicle across from him and stood nearby, pretending to do something with a basket of cleaning stuff it looked like. She was looking at Lewis. She had seen this exact sequence of movements from thousands of men before, she knew what was coming – firstly, she knew that if she hadn’t made herself visible, that Lewis would’ve leapt the turnstiles or squeezed past the rotating bars sideways-on. Now that she was visible, she knew that he’d switch to plan b:

“I’m sorry… I’ve only got (counting) 40 pence, can I…”

She was already shaking her head, and in two inarguable syllables killed the deal: “50 pence.”

Lewis sighed, turned to walk away and then turned back to her to politely ask again but she cut him off:

“I let you, I let thousands of people too? I lose my job hey? You employ me?!”

Not with that attitude, thought Lewis.

He walked back up onto the street and looked around for signs of an ATM. There wasn’t one visible, but he felt that if he walked in the direction of some shops that he was bound to come across one at some point. However five minutes of quick-pace walking bore no fruit and his need was beginning to intensify. No bloody cash machines in a bloody high street? Then all of a sudden he spied the banner of a Sainsbury’s Local – bound to be an ATM there, or at least he could get some cashback! He broke into a light jog and sure enough, when he got there, there was an ATM – one with a £5 option on the screen and everything! Get in!

He returned to the toilet, £5 in hand, feeling somewhat triumphant. The woman was standing in the same spot, as if she hadn’t moved an inch the whole ten, fifteen minutes Lewis had been away. Bloody jobsworth, he thought, here – have your 50p. He held the note out towards her, his eyes locked on hers.

“I have no change.”

No change? How could she have no change?

“The machine is broken, they do not give me money to change.”

She pointed behind her towards a battered metal box which, caved in at the front and hanging off one screw on the wall with yellow and black tape stuck across it, did indeed look broken. What could he do or say? It was clear that she wasn’t about to buckle now, and he’d just made the expedition to get the money.

“Fuck it – here!” Lewis said, pushing the note into her hand.

He walked over, straight into the turnstile, which was immobile. He glared at her. Slowly, with ironclad indifference, she moved towards the side of the turnstile and turned a key in the machine, allowing Lewis through.

Unbelievable, Lewis thought, unzipping his fly. Has the world really come to this? A simple, human necessity reduced to a costly, £5 transaction? It was ridiculous – extortionate! How could anyone justify it? She was definitely in the wrong, no question – at least ethically. Oh sure she could hide behind the old ‘I’m just doing my job’ line – just like the Nazis did, of course – but that doesn’t change how wrong it was of her to take that money from him.

Lewis felt his pulse quickening. He was getting angrier the more he thought about it. £5 on what, a 40 second visit? He zipped up and turned around from the urinals. If I’m going to spend £5 on this visit, I’m going to get my money’s worth, he thought.

He strode into one of the cubicles, slammed the door, bolted it hard and whipped his trousers down to his ankles before sitting. He didn’t particularly need anything more than a wee, but he knew if he sat there for long enough, something would probably happen. He didn’t have anywhere to be, no-one to meet, nothing to do – so he could spend all afternoon there if he wanted to! He’d paid for it, so why shouldn’t he make the most of it? He pulled his phone out, opened up the Guardian news app and started to read Simon Jenkins’s latest column while he waited for nature to run it’s course.

An hour or so later, Lewis decided that he’d like to get the feeling back in his legs, so he stood up, flushed what little he had to and went to wash his hands. As he rinsed, he spied the woman through the arched entrance into the toilets. She was staring right at him. After a brief exchange of looks, she raised her eyebrows and shook her head before walking away. The anger returned. Who on earth did she think she was? Like it was any of her business how long he spent in that toilet! He’d given her £5 – £5!! – for a goddamn piss and there she was, hovering around outside judging him!

Suddenly, caught up in his own rage, Lewis did something that even he hadn’t anticipated and pulled off his shirt, exposing his bare torso. Fuck it, he thought – I’m going to have a wash! Why not – there’s soap here, hand towels, driers etc – why shouldn’t he use whatever he could in the time he was here?

When the woman walked past the opening to the toilet next, Lewis was stood in nothing but his boxers, staring out at her with hand soap lathered all over his chest and arms. His legs were wet – he’d already rinsed those. She felt a little bit embarrassed for him and for the first time felt like she couldn’t look at him in the eyes. Lewis took this clear sign of discomfort on her behalf as another point for him, which he gleefully chalked up on the scoreboard in his demented brain.

By the time the pizza and potato wedges arrived, it was nearly dark, and the attendant was looking at her watch. She stared, jaw agape as the Deliveroo cyclist passed the food boxes across the turnstile to Lewis.

“You fancy a slice?” Lewis asked the attendant, with an air of triumph so thick it had its own aroma.

“We close you know?” she responded, still in utter disbelief at what was now transpiring  “Seven o’clock, I finish. You cannot stay! It’s just gone six now!”

Lewis did not know this. He had assumed that the toilets remained open overnight, and that he could leave under the cover of darkness once the attendant had clocked off, head held high. He did however pretend that he knew this, with no idea at that point how he was going to resolve this thing.

“Yeah, yeah, plenty of time for dinner!” he said, smiling uncomfortably at the attendant.

He attempted a wink as he turned his back, but kind of just half closed both eyes. Fatigue was taking it’s toll. Leaning against the wash hands station with his pizza box balanced precariously on a sink, he chowed down slice after slice as he contemplated his next move. A couple of young boys sniggered by the entrance and took pictures of Lewis, one of which would later form the basis of a number of memes. But Lewis didn’t notice them, nor anyone else using the bathroom for the next 10 minutes, for he was thinking with an intensity that precluded all other functions bar chewing.

Then it came to him.

“I declare squatters’ rights!” he bellowed.

Lewis didn’t really know what squatters’ rights were, and wished that he’d had the sense to research them online before he’d claimed to have them. The attendant was inevitably unsympathetic to his claim and promptly rung the police, who were also unsympathetic. The duty officer who arrived was helpful in explaining that Lewis didn’t have a leg to stand on, and that if he didn’t want to leave in the back of a police car, he’d put his clothes on and be on his way.

“Well at least I got my money’s worth.” Lewis thought, tucking his remaining pizza under his arm and lifting his bag.